


Breaking the Wheel

by Marbleroses



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Bittersweet Ending, Canon Rewrite, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fix-It, Gen, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Other, Past Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rewrite, Romance, Roughness, Season/Series 08, Slow Burn, Strong Female Characters
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-03-26 16:41:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19009708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marbleroses/pseuds/Marbleroses
Summary: This is my self-indulgent, mostly romantic, fix-it of season 8. I despised the ending, many characters were acting out of canon, and the dialog was cringey. I wanted to write this as therapy and put my head canon to paper. It's my first ever fan-fic but hopefully you'll enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I've been an avid fan of the show and books for years so I *think* I have a good idea of how it should have all played out. Maybe?Picks up after the Night King battle and goes from there. Mainly female narration (Sansa, Arya, Brienne, Missandei, Dany). See notes for full description and warnings before each chapter."If I had gone with you that night I would have stayed a little bird all my life. You might not have found Arya, or we could have all died at the red wedding with the rest of my family, it's best not to dwell on what could have been, Sandor. It has been a horrible journey to bring us to this point but we are where we need to be, or at least that's what Bran keeps telling me" He nods and squeezes her hand slightly in response. "I've wanted to ask you something about that night.. The Blackwater I mean.." Sansa continues but their conversation is interrupted by the blast of the horns.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warnings for this chapter: Rape mentioned
> 
> Welcome to my first ever fan-fiction! After reading some of the wonderful works created by other fans, I figured it was about time I did one of my own. Ideally I'd like to completely rewrite season 8 because I feel it was rushed and the content was very much out of character for the most part but for now I'm going to pick up after the Night King battle and go from there. I may take some creative liberties with what happened during the battle and what came before it, as well, for instance I'm not a huge fan of how TNK died, so I may change things through memories. I may use some references from the books but I'll mainly be keeping this work show-complaint. Who knows though, it may go completely off the rails. I've never written a fanfic before so bear with me. I've also never written smut before and I don't really intend for this fic to be full of it but there are some situations that will arise that I find it somewhat necessary so wish me luck in that regard and I will post warnings in the notes when the time comes. I'm also going to switch perspective frequently and sometimes in the middle of scenes because I get bored of reading the same perspective after a while and I have a lot I want to address with several characters in this story which unfortunately all happens at once for the most part. Like I said, this will mainly be a female pov fic but there may be a rogue male perspective at some point, no promises. I also may jump around in time a bit for story telling purposes so forgive me if it seems a bit jumbled. Mainly I just wanted to write this for therapeutic purposes and to put my head canon to paper, so to speak. If you like it, cool, if you have any advice or suggestions, awesome, if you hate it, that's okay, too. My spelling, grammar, and tenses may get fucked up, I'm mainly writing this in the middle of the night so feel free to rag on me for it, it's been a while since I've written anything. Here goes..
> 
> This chapter will feature Sansa's pov post-battle at the feast. I thought it was crucial to re-write that cringey dialogue between her and Sandor, considering they hadn't seen each other since the Blackwater burned and reuniting them (especially if you read the books) is very important to both characters. I know he isn't the sweetest, well-spoken guy but never in a million years could I have pictured him speaking to Sansa the way he did. "Broken in"? Puke. I'm going to borrow some dialogue from the show but rework it more indicative of canon.

**Sansa**

 

The great Hall of Winterfell was alive with laughter and merriment, noises from outside the halls could be heard and smells of delicious food from the grand feast filled the air around them. The people were celebrating and they deserved it, they had fought bravely and defeated the long night. Even she had her brush with death in the crypts, fighting off her long dead ancestors with Tyrion at her side and the blade her sister gave her in her clenched fist. 'Stick them with the pointy end', Arya had said and she did. The sight of their falling corpses would haunt her nightmares for many years to come.

Everything was happening fast now, too fast for Sansa's taste. The seemingly impossible threat was defeated, many were lost, she wept and said her goodbyes to the ones she loved and now she sat looking at the survivors basking in their great fortune like their world hadn't almost just come to a frozen end merely hours ago. She was grateful that the threat had subsided but how could they possibly be so merry at a time like this? The rotting bodies of their brethren still lay strewn across the battlefield, the castle was barely standing, charred from the fire of the undead dragon laying waste to its walls. One threat was gone but how much more bloodshed and tragedy lay ahead of them? Cersei was gathering her forces in the south and she grew more weary of the silver haired dragon queen every day she remained in her presence. Daenerys was beautiful and charming, no doubt, but Sansa sensed something sinister behind her warm smile and promises of peace. Sansa would never let the north bow to another Targaryen ruler, not as long as the was still a Stark in Winterfell, even if her brother loved her, fool that he was. Sansa sat in her chair calculating, running through various scenarios in her mind, most of them unpleasant.

Her brother Jon put on a smiling face and interacted with the people who came to congratulate him on his heroic victory against the Night King, for it was he who landed the killing blow, ending the army of the dead for good, but she herself found it difficult to even feign a smile. There was far too much on her mind, too much to plan, people to look after. She imitated what she thought would be interest in the conversations happening around her with narrow eyes and tight lips. She wished she had an excuse to shut off from the world, like Bran, some divine reason for her detachment from trivial chit chat, she admired that about him as much as she feared it.

Perhaps she was becoming pessimistic and hateful, it reminded her of someone whom she thought was long lost to her, Sandor Clegane, who sat at a long table not far from her view. She was happy to see that he had survived the battle, there was much more to discuss with the man she once feared after their conversation the night before, after everything that transpired between them all those years ago. She watched him carefully as she scanned the room, aware of the eyes on her, judging her every movement. She may not dislike Varys, he was kind to her in King's Landing, but his reputation preceded him and she would be lying if she said his presence didn't unsettle her and kept her on her toes. Clegane, however, looked more miserable than her somehow, his mouth was turned down in a scowl and he sat alone staring at the goblet of wine in his fist. She wondered if her prayer for him many years ago fell on silent ears. 'Gentle the rage inside him'. Arya had briefly told her the tale of their adventures together, how he saved her from the Freys, how he brought her to the Vale, she could scarcely believe they were so close to her after her aunt fell, she kicked herself for not being more aware back then. How different things could have been.. She starts to picture Sandor ripping Baelish in half and she almost giggles aloud. She was grateful for his protection of her sister, although judging by her abilities now, she doubted her ever needing his protection in the first place. Sansa smiles thinking of her sister, her dangerous sister, she wonders where she could have run off to as she watches Gendry, the Baratheon bastard stand up from his conversation with The Hound.

It was then she heard the dragon queen speak.

"Gendry Waters, that's right, isn't it?" Dany addresses the young blacksmith.

"Yes your grace," he retorts. She sees the panic forming on his face. He was the last remaining Baratheon, Robert's son, the king who had defeated the Targaryen dynasty, who had slain her brother on the trident. She wonders if she planed on killing the man, feeding him to her dragons, or beheading him in front of the remaining lords and ladies to show her power and vengeance. The room goes silent, onlookers waiting with baited breath for what the queen would say next.

"You are Robert Baratheon's son?" Sansa takes note on how she doesn't use the word bastard when she addresses him. "Aye, your grace. I never knew him, I wasn't even aware that he was my fath-" he's stumbling over his words, poor fool, Sansa muses, it's certainly over for him.

"You are aware he took my family's throne and tried to have me murdered?" she asks. Davos Seaworth looks to Jon then back to Gendry.

"Yes, your grace," fear taking over his face, "I wasn't even aware that he was my father until after he was dead, I never knew the man,"

"Yes, he is dead," she says stoically, "So.. who is the lord of Storm's End now?" silence. She cocks her head in question staring at Gendry like a cat watching a mouse at its feet, or better yet, a dragon toying with a stag it was about to devour.

"I don't know, your grace," he responds carefully.

"Does anybody know?" the dragon queen asks the dead pan group of people before her in the hall. No one responds. The blacksmith looks around the room, waiting for someone to answer or save him. So much for loving her, Sansa thinks, smiling smugly. She wonders if Arya will slit her throat if she sentences Gendry to death for his father's crimes. What she says next defies Sansa's belief, or at least her negative opinion of the queen.

"I think you should be the ruler of Storm's End," she says. His eyes light up in surprise, mouth agape.

"But.. I can't be, I'm a bastard, your grace," he says, finally finding his words, shaking his head. No doubt his thoughts were align with Sansa's as to where this conversation was going.

"No, you are Lord Gendry Baratheon, first of his name, Lord of Storm's End, and lawful son of Robert Baratheon because that is what I've made you" she smiles and the new young lord in front of her. Davos stands, raising his glass in toast, "To Lord Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End" the tension in the room completely evaporates and the people cheer wildly for the newly appointed lord. Jon hands Gendry a chalice and he stands before the people. "Lord Gendry," they cheer.

"A fitting reward for a hero," Sansa hears Tyrion remark to Dany, Sansa tries to eavesdrop further, "and a Lord of Storm's End that will be forever loyal to you."

"And if my little birds are correct, that gesture just may help bring the young Stark sister into the fold," Varys notes.

"See, you're not the only one who's clever," the queen responds. Sansa can't help but agree, as furious with her as she were. It was a wise move on Daenerys' end, while reminding him and everyone listening that his fate was entirely in her hands. Sansa wonders if he'll keep the lordship knowing Arya will want nothing to do with it, her sister would never fall for such a sweet tick. She may not have heard from her sister's own mouth but she heard whispers and her own eyes could tell there was something going on between Arya and the newly appointed lord.

Tyrion notices Sansa's glare, he looks at her and she scowls, turning away. Dany wasn't the only one who could flex her power, if she refused to bow, the north would, too and Tyrion knew it.

Her attention falls back to Sandor Clegane, who was notably refused to join the crowd in cheering for Gendry's new lordship, grabbing a whole pitcher of wine from a sever for himself. She runs through their conversation from the night before, trying to drown out the loud chatter around her, whilst looking for insight as to how she would approach him again.

 

_Pre-Battle_

Sansa had known of his presence in Winterfell after Jon and the dragon queen arrived days ago but she couldn't bring herself to face him after everything that had happened to her, after  _Ramsey_. Things were so different now, she was a woman grown with deep scars to prove it, the frail bird he once knew was dead and in her place was a stone she-wolf. He was never far from her thoughts throughout the years, no matter the circumstances. She fantasized about their meeting again and how she would thank him for saving her from times of torment in King's Landing, how she would..  What? She wasn't sure but she knew she wanted to see him again, her true knight, she called him in her mind. She worried he'd be indifferent towards her, or worse that he'd have heard of her abuse and pity her for it, she didn't want anyone's pity for what happened. She got her revenge. Sandor Clegane was a rough, ill-spoken man, but he was never cruel to her unlike most of the other men she had encountered in her life. He was the only one living, save for Tyrion, that had truly bore witness to the hell she had suffered at the hands of Joffrey in King's Landing. He had offered her a way out of that torture and she had refused him. Maybe he resented her for it and she dared not admit even to herself how much that thought plagued her.

Sansa finally mustered the courage to speak to Sandor Clegane on the eve of the battle, she found him up on the battlements, her heart had been crashing against her chest when she finally discovered him drinking alone, sitting against the wall alone. She recalls passing Beric Dondarion on the stairwell who bid her a smile and a nod. She almost considered turning craven when he faced to look at her in the doorway. She had done her best to avoid eye contact with him in passing since his arrival and now she knew why. It was as if he saw right through her tough exterior she built up and was seeing the broken, beaten, sad girl underneath. He understood trauma more than anyone, his brother breaking his spirit in childhood. Time could have stood still for all she knew and she wouldn't have noticed, the cold snowy wind blew her hair around like fire on her pale face. His eyes were full of sorrow and regret but she sensed a bit of yearning in his stare, like he was daring her to come closer. The space between them felt like a thousand miles as she approached him, her eyes never fell from his til she sat next to him on the snowy stone of the rampart. Sansa leaned against the cold wall and looked down at her dress, crumpling the material between her fingers, unsure what to say.

"Wasn't sure if I'd see your face before the end, little bird" he said with a forlorn tone laced with hurt and reproach which made her immediately regret not coming to him earlier. She wanted to lay her heart bare to him, to thank him for everything he had done for her and her sister, to beg for forgiveness, to cry, but she kept herself composed, the stone hearted Lady of Winterfell remained collected.

"I apologize for not greeting you earlier. My people needed me, there's been much to prepare, I.." she managed to whisper out, she couldn't finish what she wanted to say, 'I was afraid'. It amazed her how her walls crumbled around him, her stone facade was falling apart and she felt panic taking over, bile rising in her throat. She wanted to run away from her feelings and the man that brought them rushing forward like a wave.

"No need to apologize to an old dog like me, _Lady Stark_ " She saw a hint of a smile on his face when he formally addressed her. The panic subsided slightly. She thought of the cloak he left her that night, still hidden in a trunk at the foot of her bed, it gave her comfort in times where she felt the smallest. She wondered what he'd think of that. She wondered if he remembered that night at all, he was drunk and smelt of fire and death; he had stolen a kiss and a song and left her with a stained bloody cloak. She wondered if any of it even happened at all. What she did know was that he wouldn't hurt her and even whilst facing imminent death, she felt safe, nervous as she was. She studied his face in the darkness, time had truly changed both of them. He looked different than she remembered, the rage still remaining but regret and sorrow fighting to take its place in his eyes. It was Sandor who broke the silence, offering her some wine from his waterskin with a grunt.

"No, thank you. I should keep a clear mind tonight. The Night King and his army could be upon us at any moment"

"All the more reason to fucking drink, if you ask me" he grumbles. She obliged him and took a swig of the wineskin and he managed a smirk. He catches her gaze, strong and emotionless at first but a glimmer of something else behind it. She held his eyes for a few moments til he speaks, "used to be you couldn't look at me"

"That was a long time ago," Sansa states, "I've seen much worse since then." Her eyes turn sad, he furrows his brow, turning angry at the mention of her past abuse. She knew it must pain him to know of what befell her.

"Aye.. So I've heard.." he said, trailing off and breaking their gaze, he stared down at the ground with a scowl on his face.

"You tried to warn me how cruel this world was once upon a time, Sandor, and it may have taken me some time but I have learned that lesson amongst many others in the years since then" his eyes shot up to meet hers when she said his name, "I did really mean to come see you sooner, I am sorry.. If I'm being honest, I wasn't sure I could face you after..after.." Sansa stopped herself, unable to say the words. The wine was getting to her, she wasn't planning on opening old wounds up here on the ramparts on the eve of battle. The memory stung like a thousand wasps. She didn't speak of  _him_ often. 

"I heard what the Bolton bastard did to you.. coward cunt. Heard that needle dick, Littlefinger, sold you to him" She could feel his hand ball in to a fist next to her and she could hear the rage growing in his voice.

"They got what they deserved. I gave it to them" Sansa say, looking at him.

"How?"

"Hounds," she heard him laugh dryly at the irony of it, "with Ramsey, at least" His fist uncurls and curls at her side. Sansa takes another swig of his wineskin, grimacing after saying _his_ name. "I sentenced Baelish to death for his grievous crimes against my family." Sansa fidgeted with her dress, "Arya slit his throat" She could hear him breathe out quickly through his nose, his fist balling tightly again.

"You've changed, little bird" He says, taking his wineskin back and taking a long pull, "Never would have happened if you left with me.. Ramsey, Little Finger, none of it. I would have kept you safe, I would have buried my axe in any mans' head who tried to put their _stinking_ hands on you" the regret in his gravelly voice was palpable, tears formed at the corners of his eyes. She remembers the wet tears on his face the night the Blackwater burned. Sansa reached for his fisted hand at her side and slid her fingers in-between his. Sandor looked down at their clasped hands and back into her eyes, completely bewildered and taken off guard by this gesture.

"If I had gone with you that night I would have stayed a little bird all my life. You might not have found Arya, or we could have all died at the red wedding with the rest of my family, it's best not to dwell on what could have been, Sandor. It may have been a horrible journey to bring us to this point but we are where we need to be, or at least that's what Bran keeps telling me" He noded and squeezed her hand slightly in response. "I've wanted to ask you something about that night.. The Blackwater I mean.." Sansa continued but their conversation was interrupted by the blast of the horns.

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**Alright that's it for now, next chapter will feature Arya's pov, then Brienne's after that, then back to Sansa. I wanted all of their pov during the feast and after because I feel like it was such a loaded evening. Dany and Missandei chapters will come later, I wanted to keep things slightly ambiguous with Dany for now. Obviously I changed how TNK died, having Jon kill him (because that's what should have happened, screw your subversion D &D) I'll try and update frequently but no promises. Thanks for reading, share your thoughts.**


	2. Arya

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick run through of Arya's encounter with Gendry during the feast with her added thoughts and additional changes. Brief flashback to the defeat of TNK.

**Arya**

 

Arya wanted nothing to do with the feast, her mind was laser focused on her upcoming task of destroying Cersei. Jon was receiving all the credit for defeating the Night King, and she preferred it that way, she hated attention, much like how she preferred target practice to grand functions. She may not have landed the killing blow but the people would have been doomed if it weren't for her. The Night King had Jon, it would have been the end of both of her brothers if she hadn't appeared when she did, allowing Jon to shove his sword through the cold bastard's heart while his icy fingers wrapped around her throat. She could have ended him just as easily as Jon had, she just had to drop her dagger and stab his exposed flesh; a move she had perfected in her training. At the end of the day it didn't matter, the army of the dead was defeated, her family was safe, and she could focus on the task at hand.

Or so she thought.. Arya loaded arrow after arrow on her bow, just missing the bulls eye every time, her mind was wandering, wandering to the night before the battle, the night she spent with Gendry. Gendry.. she thought. She wasn't quite sure how to wrap her mind around what had occurred between them, how she had taken initiative and took what she wanted from him, how he had let her and stared at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world. She completely forgot herself that night. Feelings were there for the man, they had been since they were kids traveling to the night's watch with Joren all those years ago, but she had changed.. He had changed.. She didn't believe love was a possibility for someone like her, for someone destined to become 'no one'. But was that her true path? She had returned to Winterfell instead of completing her list of names, Arya Stark was still very much alive inside her heart but she always believed the many faced god would come for one day. She recalled what she said to Jacqen when she left the house of black and white. "I am Arya Stark and I am going home" Why didn't he try to stop her? Why didn't he kill her? She knew very well how dangerous Jaqen was, or whoever he truly is. He could have ended her without the slightest amount of difficulty and returned her name to the many faced god. Why didn't he? She found this thought haunting her mind more frequently since her departure from Braavos. She almost thought she saw a smile form on his face when she turned to leave. What did it all mean?

  
"Focus" she chants to herself, drawing in a deep breath through her nose, trying to will her thoughts to behave and remain on target. She releases another arrow and it hits the bulls eye this time,  a figure appears just barely avoiding the path of the arrow. She sees him, Gendry, shock on his face from the arrow whizzing by his head. Idiot, she thinks, and laughs.

  
After recovering from his close brush with death his eyes light up, a giant smile spreading across his face, "Don't shoot," he yells out, slightly stumbling towards her, "It's night time, everyone's celebrating, you should be celebrating with them, with me"  
Great, he's drunk, she thinks, putting her bow down, no doubt he's about to make a fool of himself. Part of her hopes he does, part of her wants to flee.

  
"I am," she says coldly. He scrunches his face at her.

  
"I'm not Gendry Waters anymore, Arya, I'm Gendry Baratheon, Lord of Storm's End," he says, his face glowing, looking into her eyes with such love and devotion she couldn't believe it. She looks at him, her heart's beating in her throat but she can't let him see her emotion, she promises herself.

  
"Congratulations," she says, forcing a smile. He takes her by the shoulders and kisses her fiercely.

  
"I don't know how to be Lord of anything, I hardly know how to use a fork, but all I know is that you're beautiful, and I love you, and none of it will be worth anything if you're not with me," he rambles quickly but honestly, holding her shoulders staring into her eyes. Fuck, this is exactly what she was afraid of, "so be with me," he continues, getting down onto one knee, "be my wife, be the lady of Storm's End" God's it was going to hurt to turn him down, the look on his face was worth a million names on her list. But it wasn't meant to be, or at least not like this. She wasn't a lady, she was dangerous and only death followed her in this life. 

  
'I could be your family' she hears her own voice playback in her head. He had refused her then when they were held captive by the brotherhood and it stung, she knew it was because of his low birth, he didn't believe himself to be her equal. Did having a title really make him feel worthy enough for her? He was such an idiot, she thinks, she never wanted some Lord or fancy castle, she just wanted him, Gendry the blacksmith, her traveling companion, her friend, her lover.

 

Arya reaches down and takes Gendry's face, kissing him again but softly thing time, he tasted like wine and roasted chicken. They rise together, hope still bright across his face. Here goes, she thinks, brace yourself. She knew this would hurt her just as much as it was going to hurt him.

  
"I'm sure you'll be a wonderful lord, Gendry," she begins, the realization beginning to set in on his face, "but I'm not a lady, I never have been. You know that. Any real Lady would be lucky to have you. But that's not me," she says, kissing him one more time, leaving him speechless as she disappears into the darkness of the night unable to face his defeat.

  
Arya creeps down a dark corridor, trying to escape that devastated look on Gendry's face. He couldn't see her cry, not right now. The tears filled her eyes and she tried to wipe them away with her sleeve. Fuck, how was she ever going to focus now. Why Gendry? You fool, you know me better than to ask me something like that, she thinks. She sneaks out the castle gates, no one was paying mind to them amidst the merriment, escaping into the night, attempting to find peace knowing she would find none. 

-

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 **So this was a little quickie.**   **I didn't expect to post this chapter so soon after the first but I wanted to get it out of the way quickly to set up for the upcoming events. It's late, best not continue to write but who am I kidding? Hah, I'll probably have the next one ready tomorrow.**


	3. Brienne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Brienne's interaction with Jaime, Tyrion, and Pod during the feast.

**Brienne**

 

Jaime attempted to pour Brienne a glass of wine which she covers with her hand shooting him a disapproving glance, she never much liked the feeling of being inebriated or the taste of wine for that matter. He scooted her hand away with his golden one, pouring the glass full of red liquid. He tilts his head and grins. She can't help but smile back, Gods was he charming.

"They're dead and we're alive, there never was a better time to let loose," he says playfully and despite herself, picks up the glass and takes a sip.

She had been so relieved that they survived unscathed after the battle, Pod, her dutiful squire, along with Ser Jaime. They were becoming quite the trio, a family of sorts and she enjoyed their company, even if they teased her, much to her chagrin. She might have even considered Tyrion a part of it, save for his crass sense of humor, Pod was rather attached to the small fellow. Odd how connected they all were, she wondered if it were fate or merely coincidence. After all she experienced fate seemed the more likely culprit. It felt good to be with them, she thought, she felt more at home than she did since King Renly died. If they survived the coming war she would try and convince Jaime to return to the north with her and Pod to serve as guards to Lady Sansa. Jaime had abandoned his ancestral home and witch of a sister so he really didn't have anywhere to go. She also secretly wished he would remain by her side in the end. She knew Tyrion would remain with queen Daenerys in King's Landing after they defeated Cersei but they could visit each other on occasion, couldn't they?

Brienne scans the room, taking in the joyful sounds and smells of the feast, she felt oddly peaceful. She notices Sansa sitting at the head table, completely in her own world, unengaged in conversation, watching carefully like a hawk. She felt bad for the Lady of Winterfell, she couldn't imagine enduring what she had. She regretted not being able to protect her while she was held captive in her own home, she had promised to protect the Stark girls with her life and she had failed. 

"My lady, have you ever played the game of guessing?" Tyrion asks, clearly trying to break her somber mood.

"Can't say I have," she responds. She could care less about the imp's drinking games.

"Oh but it's so fun!" he goads, "Isn't it, Pod?" Tyrion's former squire looks to her then to the imp, unsure what to say.

"Uh, yes, m'lord. You made Bronn and I play with you on several occasions," Pod replies.

"Come on, have some fun, you look like a bunch of sad old crones, tonight is a night for celebration!" Tyrion declares.

Brienne rolls her eyes and looks at Jaime who's barely able to contain his laughter. "Alright, I'll indulge you, Imp," she agrees.

Tyrion then began explaining the rules to his game stating that each person takes a turn guessing facts about someone, if they guessed right the other person would drink, but drinking if they guessed wrong about their fact, passing the turn to the subject of guesses. Brienne always found drinking games to be rather foolish and immature but she allowed herself this indulgence tonight, heeding Jaime's earlier sentiment. What could it hurt to celebrate a little? 

Tyrion began, as it was custom for it was his game, and started in at Pod, his former squire, "You have never had your heart broken," he guesses. Pod gives a coy smile and takes a sip from his glass.

"You prefer blondes!" Tyrion continues.

"No, m'lord, I prefer red-heads but I can't say I mind any color on a woman," Podrick replies. Brienne glares at him which makes the men burst into laughter. 

"Your turn Pod," Tyrion commands.

"Alright then.. Ser Jaime," Pod addresses the knight across the table.

"Yes Pod," he replies condescendingly. The squire looks at Jaime sheepishly, thinking of a guess.

"Your purpose for traveling north wasn't just to fight the army of the dead," Pod states almost as if it were a fact. Jaime toasts his glass to Brienne and takes a sip. She blushes at his glance. 

"You've been with more women than you can count," Pod says smugly. Jaime was easily one of the most attractive, saught after men in the realm but Brienne knew that he had only ever been with Cersei. She looks to Jaime who smiles at her and looks down.

"I've only ever been with one woman, Pod now drink" Jaime responds. Podrick looks taken aback, clearly shocked that the handsome knight hadn't taken advantage of his charming good looks. "Do you really think me such a scoundrel?" he laughs

"No, m'lord, I just figured with the way girls look at you and all.." Pod responds. They all laugh at the blushing squire.

It was now Jaime's turn to guess and naturally he chose Brienne as the target of his guess.

"You're an only child," he says.

"You already knew that!" Brienne exclaims. Jaime shrugs, smirking.

"How am I supposed to remember," he laughs. He rubs his chin with his thumb and pointer and continues his guessing "You _danced_ with Renly Baratheon,"

"Hey, you don't get to go again!" she complains.

"It's my game and I get to say who goes," Tyrion exclaims, "Now drink!" Pod tips his head and smiles at her and she smirks and takes a swig of her glass. She could grow to like the taste, she thinks.

"You loath to be in a dress," Jaime says.

"Drink," she responds coldly. Little did he know she enjoyed lady-like things such as dresses and dancing but years old childhood torment buried those desires deep down inside her.

"I should like to see you in silks one day, my lady," Jaime remarks, looking her up and down. She could have sworn he was checking out her figure just then. She chases the thought away with a giggle, her face turning flush. He laughs back and smiles at her. Brienne was sure but she could be forgiven for thinking Jaime Lannister was flirting with her. Tyrion raised his eyebrows at his brother, clearly catching on as well.

"My turn," Brienne says, looking to Tyrion.

"Oh no, payback!" he implies jokingly putting his hands in the air to surrender.

"You were married.. before Sansa, I mean" she guesses.

"Drink," Jaime says to his brother, clapping him on the shoulder. Tyrion scowls at him, squinting his eyes and takes a sip.

Watching him squirm put a mischievous smile on her face. She was begging to enjoy this game, silly as it were.

"Lord Varys is your dear friend but Ser Jaime is your best" she states.

"Aye," Tyrion nods to his brother with a grin and takes a sip of wine.

"You would give your life to protect your queen,"

"She's getting quite good at tis, y'know" Tyrion says drunkenly, gulping more wine, spilling some slightly. Clearly he had had more than he should have throughout the evening. 

"You're drinking wine but you prefer ale!" Brienne guesses excitedly.

"Ah ah ah, drink," Tyrion says, "now it's my turn!"

"You're a virgin," he slurs. Jaime makes a stern face at Tyrion and pushes his brother's shoulder. Brienne's smile falls from her broad lips, she looks down as she becomes uncomfortable with the current topic of her maidenhood. Tyrions eyes go serious as he continues his statement, "At no point, up to this very moment in time have you ever slept with a man," he sits back, "or woman," he adds, making it even more unbearable.

She looked from Pod to Jaime, their eyes carefully watching her. They knew sha had remained chaste all her life, clearly he must have known the answer. 'Brienne the Beauty' they would call her, 'The Maid of Tarth', funny little nicknames they would call her, mocking her awkwardly tall frame. She was too ugly and manish to have ever received the attentions of a man, she thinks. Doesn't he know that?

Deciding it must have been some sort of cruel prank, Brienne looks at him as though he's spat in her drink and steadies herself on the table to get up.

"I have to take a piss," she says. The men at the table looking grimly at her. Tyrions eyes apologetic. He could keep his apologies, she was sick of men ridiculing her.

Then, as if she were cursed with bad fortune, the tall, ginger-haired wildling spots her and makes his way for the table.

"Here we are!" Tormond roars, "we faced those icy fucking cowards and we won!" he shouts in Brienne's face, sloshing what's left in his drinking all around. She grimaces at the drunken man, she didn't have the patience for his come ons at the moment. 

"Now which one of you cowards shit my pants?" he asks, bursting out laughing.

Brienne visibly perturbed, thinks how she had never encountered such a mad man.

"Please pardon me for a moment," Brienne interrupts. He glares at her with hopeful, glossy eyes as she brushes past him. Gods she hoped he wouldn't have to fight this fool.

She can hear him start to follow, stumbling, and  she hears a chair scrape across the floor behind her. She turns to look and sees Jaime standing to block his way. She could have kissed him right there for all to see. Jaime smiles at her and turns back to Tormond, patting him on the shoulder. Tormond's crestfallen expression was a sight to be seen, she almost pitied the man, stifling a laugh as she left the great hall.

-

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**I wanted to shine some insight into Brienne's thoughts during the game of guessing, I feel like it wasn't addressed enough in episode 4. Brienne is a strong willed woman but her emotions are still fragile, I tried to project that with her relating Tyrion's question to her past abuse. Jaime is totally aware of this and tries his best to shut his brother up to no avail. You all know what happens next ;] Or do you??**

**Sansa chapter next, following her exit from the feast. Incoming smut warning, just a heads up. I've never written any kind of sex scene in my life but I feel like it's very necessary and I'll explain why when the time comes. Wish me luck!**

**Thanks for reading and leaving your comments and kudos, I appreciate it!**


	4. Sansa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings: mentions of past rape, non-con, abuse. Ptsd triggers. 
> 
> This chapter follows Sansa directly after last chapter during the feast. She finally gets an answer to her question.  
> Some book references mentioned. 
> 
> Notes at the end of chapter.

**Sansa**

 

Tormond, the tall red-haired wildling approached the main table with wide grin and a horn full of some foul smelling drink. He grabbed Jon's shoulder, shoving his beverage it in her brother's face egging him on to take a swig. As much as Jon tried to refuse the honor, the wildling was persistent. She couldn't help but to laugh along with them as her poor brother begrudgingly took a gulp and turned green in the face. Tormond proceed to chug the majority of the contents of his horn, soaking his face with the vile liquid. As uncouth as the man was, she admired his candor and lack of bashfulness. 

  
"To the Dragon Queen!" Tormond toasts raucously. The crowd cheers and sansa rolls her eyes indignantly. 

  
The dragon queen stands, raising her glass to he room. "To Jon Snow, Arya Stark, and Theon Greyjoy, the heroes of Winterfell!" Daneary's calls out. The hall erupts in loud cheering and pounding of fists on tables. Hearing Theon's name sends a sharp pain to her chest, the loss of her dear friend still weighing heavily on her mind. She could feel the tears welling in the corners of her eyes but she wills them away and remains poised. She was the Lady of Winterfell and she needed to remain a pillar of composure for her people. Even Sandor Clegane raised a glass in toast, clearly for her sister who she knew was dear to the man.

 _Maybe they do love her_ , Sansa muses, looking toward the beautiful Queen standing beside her brother, _maybe I'm wrong about her_. Daenerys rose her glass and took a small sip then sat back in her chair next to Jon, she noticed her slyly placing her hand in his on the table and they gave each other a loving glance. It made her stomach turn. As if sensing her discomfort, Jon turned to look at Sansa, the smile fading from his face. He loved this dragon queen more than his own family, she broods, and she couldn't seem to fathom how the noble, virtuous Jon Snow could trust a foreign invader more than his own sister's intuition. There was something off about her and Sansa pledged to get to the bottom of it. Jon gives a look of compunction and she responds with a with an unsympathetic stare laced with disappointment. A look perfected by her mother and in that moment she thought Catelyn would be proud.

Unable to stand the sight of the two love birds another moment, Sansa abruptly stood from the table and turned from Jon, leaving him looking remorseful. Danaerys noticed the slight as well, her hand moving from Jon's to her own lap with an inscrutable smile. 

  
Sansa pours a small drink for herself, just enough to keep a sound mind. She decides to observe the party from the sidelines, leaning against the stone wall, observing the drunken carousing from the shadows. There was much to take in as the dinner party began to disperse, people from different houses intermingling with one another, wildlings sharing toasts with northmen, flirtations, and banter. She scanned the room for her tall, female friend finding her amongst the Lannister brothers. 

  
Brienne was sat with the Lannisters and her squire, Podric, they seemed to be enjoying themselves, laughing, drinking, and fooling around. Sansa was elated to see her smiling, she deserved joy more than most, Brienne understood how it felt to be tormented and disregarded for being a woman; something she herself could relate to very much. Men loved to mock women in places of power, physically or otherwise, she thought. Lost temporarily in her musings, Sansa looks up to find the tone of the table pivot from jovial to serious. Tyrion must have said something crass, she surmised as Jaime shoved his little brother's shoulder. Brienne stood from the table with an offended look and Sansa wondered what Tyrion could have said to upset her so. Brienne was an honorable woman and didn't take kindly to petulance but rarely did an offensive remark put her in such a state.

Sansa then noticed the obnoxiously intoxicated Tormond swoop in for the approach, staggering as he walked toward the large blonde. She had considered intervening on her protector's behalf when Ser Jaime stopped him dead with his hands, conveying his sentiment wordlessly to the wildling. She watched as Brienne took her leave, Tormond staring in awe, heartbroken. Sansa covers her laugh with her wine glass, giggling quietly to herself at the rejection. The look on his face was truly priceless, she would have to thank Jaime for that later if she had the chance. Clearly the rumors regarding Brienne and The Kingslayer had some merit to them. Tyrion offered an apologetic half-smile and emptied the rest of his wine into the wildling's horn.

The now blank faced wildling turned to walk away from a grinning Podric Payne who's attentions were quickly averted to a pretty girl across from him. Tormond makes his way through the thinning crowd of people, who file out of the hall into the courtyard for further celebration, and woefully slumps himself next to The Hound who looks as though he'd rather a hive of bees descend upon him. She watches their interaction closely, curious how it'll play out. Sandor Clegane was not one to comfort an ill-besotted fool who was now blubbering at his side, tears running down his face. Sansa almost felt bad for the crestfallen man.. almost. He did spill foul smelling liquor on her hand-made gown when he was sloshing about at the grand table. Brienne was far too virtuous and noble for Tormond, he was rough, brutish, and unpredictable. She didn't necessarily have anything against the free folk, they had pledged their swords to their cause and helped win the battle of the bastards, but they had savaged villages and murdered innocents before agreeing to Jon's terms. Sansa believed Brienne deserved better than a man who would cut down village-folk, even if better than him meant Jaime Lannister who was now nowhere in sight. She hoped he had followed her. Never in a million summers did she see herself dining in the company of the brother of the woman she detested most in this world, let alone rooting for a relationship between him and her trusted friend. Stranger things have happened, she figured.

Tormund drunkenly wrapped his arm around The Hound's shoulder. "Don't fucking touch me" Sandor barked loudly enough for Sansa to eavesdrop. Sansa had always noted how much he despised people putting their hands on him and she thought back to how good it felt to have her fingers intertwined with his. She blushed at the thought and this time she couldn't blame the wine for her candid emotions coming to surface.

Two beautiful young women approached the long table and Sansa watched like a hawk from her dark corner. The girls spoke something unintelligible to the wildling, who smiled widely and stood to greet them. Judging by the heated look in their eyes and manner of reaction from the red-haired man, it must have been some sort of come-on. Tormund, who miraculously recovers from his sullen mood, gladly accepts one of the ladies' propositions and leaves to drown his sorrows about Brienne's rejection. That left the other with Sandor who didn't so much as look up from the table since their arrival. The young brunette sat herself next to him, muttering something with a playful smile on her lips. Sansa wished she could make out what she was saying to him. Now thoroughly engrossed in this interaction she watched with baited breath to see if Sandor would leave with this northern girl. He continued to drink from his chalice, glowering at the table,completely ignoring the lady at his side but she was persistent,  continuing to speak to the scarred man while he disregarded her completely. After a few moments pass and he fills his cup again with more wine, she advances, sliding her hand down his forearm, pouting her lips. He finally turned his attention to her with a scowl and growled fiercely, scaring her from the table.

Sansa had seen enough and decided to approach him, the shyness from yesterday completely gone, and sits across the table from the solemn looking man. Almost everyone had gone from the hall save for a few stragglers like themselves; too many people for Sansa's comfort though. She couldn't completely be at ease with eyes on her, it was a nasty habit that Baelish instilled upon her but it came in handy and kept her safe.

"She could have made you happy for the night, at least," remarks cooly, her face stoic, hiding her emotions. Come to think of it, Sansa had never seen The Hound with a woman, or ever heard of him bedding a woman for that matter, there were few secrets that escaped her ears nowadays and kept a close eye on her sister's protector. 

"There's only one thing that'll make me happy, girl" Sandor states gruffly, looking up to meet Sansa's piercing, blue glare.

"And what would that be?" she asks calmly

"None of _your_  business" he growls. She stares at him, unfazed by his rudeness, challenging his sour attitude. He stares back at her, raising his eyebrows. "What do you want, little bird?" He asks.

"Will you leave Winterfell with the combined forces after this is all through?" she asks him, unable to hide the hint of sadness in her voice.

"Aye, I've unfinished business to attend to," his eyes falling back down to the table, "and your little wolf-bitch of a sister will need some looking after, she tends to get herself into trouble."

Sansa breaths a laugh, "I highly doubt Arya has ever needed looking after but I appreciate the sentiment.. You don't have to leave, you know," she says, trying to hide her pleading tone. 

"And what would care if I did?" he grumbles, clearly in a foul mood.

Sansa reaches out for the hand not attached to a wine glass and takes it in her own. He looks up quickly from his hand to her face, his expression shifting from surprise, to confusion, to regret.

"Is killing your brother the only thing that will bring you peace, Sandor?" his eyes lighten slightly, hearing her speak his name. Unlike those before her, he doesn't reject or pull away from her touch, leaving his hand under hers. Without responding to her question, he stares back down at her hand on his, brows furrowed. He was silent, probably trying to decide whether to respond or change the subject. Sansa, sensing his distress, rubs her thumb over the top of his hand. He looks up at her again, eyes full of questions, a few moments pass before they break their gaze.  _Save him if you can, and gentle the rage inside him_. She repeats her silent prayer in her mind. 

Looking away, he clears his throat loudly momentarily dispensing the growing tension. "What was your question, then?" Sandor asks, disregarding her overture and the topic of his brother.

"What are you reffing to?" she responds, letting her surprise show through her facade, he had caught her off guard.

"You had wanted to ask me something last night.. before the battle.." he implores but she stays silent, the answer piecing together quickly in her mind. "I guess I was curious is all.." he shrugs, still no answer. "Shite, how drunk were you, girl?" he scoffs, taking a sip from his goblet.

She hadn't thought to continue that wine-fueled, overt candor from the night before. The horn had blown before she was able to finish her question and she was partly glad for it, she wasn't sure if she wanted to hear the answer. Whether she was ready to face reality or not, this was certainly not time time or place for it, in front of prying eyes and flies on the wall.

"Could I ask you to escort me to the Godsood, Sandor?" Sansa requests, refraining from answering him, deciding that carrying on their conversation else where would be wise. As she stands from the table, releasing her hand from his, she holds his gaze for a moment and starts off toward the door. With a stoic look, barely containing her nervousness, Sansa exited the hall with The Hound in tow.

The night was not quite frigid but she moved up next to him and wrapped her arm around his elbow to keep warm as they stepped out of the great hall. Much to her content he didn't seem to mind. A few curious folks stared curiously as Sandor Clegane-The Hound walked through the bustling courtyard with the Lady of Winterfell on his arm, it was an odd sight to be seen for those who didn't know their history, but certainly there were stranger things occurring that evening than whom Sansa Stark brought to the Godswood. They walk together in silence til they reach the base of the ancient wierwood, it's bright white bark almost seemed to glow in the moonlight. Sansa would almost think the situation romantic if she even knew what in seven hells she was doing.

Taking off one of her black leather gloves, she walks to the little pond, crouching slightly to run her finger across the frozen water, staring idly at the glassy surface. She has a faraway look in her eyes as she ruminates over telling him about her memory of the past. 

She remembers how terrified she was that night, of the fire, the noise, Illyn Payne, Cersei; she was scared for herself and for the other ladies hidden away from Stannis' men who she believed would kill her or worse. She knew what that worse was now and wished with all her heart that she could protect that poor, innocent girl she once was, like he had tried to. He was the only safety in all that terror, her true knight who had come to save her from the clutches of that evil place. There were nights she would lie awake replaying the memory over and over again, sometimes he would come to her burned and crying, other times she would leave with him, and some very few times he would take a kiss and ask for a song; every time he left his cloak which she kept safely hidden in her foot locker at the end of her bed. It had been so long and she told herself the story so many times in so many different ways she wasn't sure what was real anymore. Did he really kiss her all those years ago or had she imagined it like a tale from a story book about knights and ladies? She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him now.

"Well, what did you bring me all the way out here to talk about?" his voice brings her back to reality once more.

Still not stirring from her spot by the water or turning to face him she asks, "Do you remember that night? When you came to my chamber as the Blackwater burned?" in a nostalgic tone. she begins making circles in the snow as she waits for his answer, lost in thought.

It seems like ages til he finally responds, "Aye, I do. I'm.. sorry if I scared you then. It wasn't my intention," he says mournfully.

The cool wind swirls her hair in the night as she stands to face him. The moonlight allows for a some visibility, he's looking down but his eyes rise to meet hers as she makes her approach, she could swear he was a nervous as she was by the look in his eyes. 

"I didn't bring you out here for an apology, Sandor," she started, grabbing his hand. She couldn't help the overwhelming urge to reach out and touch him. "I still have it, you know, your cloak, I kept it close all these years".

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, opening his mouth to speak but remains silent, unsure of how to respond. 

"You stole a kiss, asked for a song, and left me with a stained, bloody cloak," Sansa draws on her remaining courage to hold her composure but tone wavers as she continues, "I would lie awake at night while I was in the Vale listening to Little Finger and my aunt, or while I was here as _Ramsey's_ prisoner, and even now.." she cringed at his name, "wondering what would have happened if I had left with you that night".

Sandor reaches his hand up to hold her face under her chin, his eyes searching her face.

"I never kissed you, Sansa." He says softly. Her eyes fall in disappointment, some part of her had only known it wasn't true, she was afraid of the answer but now he had it and it hurt worse than she could have ever imagined. She felt like a fool, the sting of wetness begins to form in the corners of her eyes.  _Don't you dare cry_ she tells herself but it's too late, a tear escapes her eye and falls down her cheek.  

"Is that what you wanted me to do?" he asks, running his finger over her face wiping the wetness away, tilting her head up to look at him. There was a softness to his eyes that Sansa had not expected, she could feel her heart racing and wondered if he could hear it. 

"Yes," Sansa whispers, her breath visible in the coldness of the air.

Everything fell silent around them as if the world stood still. She looks to his mouth to his eyes again and throws caution to the wind, reaching up to place her lips on his. 

Sandor parts from her quickly holding her at arms length, "You can do better than some drunk ol' dog like me, Sansa," he says in a pleading tone. 

"You're the only man I have ever wanted, Sandor," she says, bearing herself completely to him. "Please" she mouths almost as silent as a prayer.

She reaches her hand up to cup the burnt side of his face and he leans into her touch. Putting his hand under her chin again he pulls her closer to him and he leans down, pressing his lips to hers, kissing her. Sansa snakes her hand from his face to the back of his neck, deepening the kiss, losing herself in how good it feels to finally have this moment, so much better than that of her false memory. He grabs the back of her waist, pulling her to him. Unsteady on their feet they stumble back into ancient wierwood. Sansa giggles into Sandor's mouth and she can feel him smile against hers. He opens his mouth, pushing his tongue into hers, massaging her tongue with his and it sends Sansa over the edge. She lets out a little moan into his mouth, awakening something in him and Sandor turns to pin her against the tree. He tastes like dark red wine, blood, and sweat, she wants to drink him in entirely but his sudden roughness makes her pause.. Horrible memories flood into her brain against her will.  _I'm not ready for this, stop_  she thinks, pushing him away,  _stop stop stop._ Desire shifts to fear on her face and panic rises in her veins. She can't fight the tears any more and they come streaming down her face like a torrent.  

"Stop, stop, stop" she mutters shaking her head, her vision is blurred by her tears and she loses sense of her surroundings. "No!" she screams, pushing him hard in the chest. She can feel  _his_ hands snaking around her bent form. It makes her convulse. She wants more than anything for the thoughts to stop, to escape but she cant.

"Sansa!" Sandor yells, shaking her shoulders, "Sansa, it's me.. I'm right here, you're safe. I won't let anything hurt you," he says firmly. She's still lost to him in that moment so he takes her face in his massive hands to look into her swollen, glossy eyes. Breaking from her trance she throws her arms around him and falls apart. "No one will ever hurt you again, my little bird".

Minutes or hours could have gone by, they couldn't tell, time continued to stand still as Sansa let her walls crumble in the safety of his arms. She hadn't had the chance to let herself experience her pain, she couldn't show weakness to anyone, even her own family as much as she loved and trusted them. Everyone else expected her to be the pinnacle of strength and she had to be for her people, they couldn't see this side of her and she was grateful to Sandor for letting her have this moment. He stroked the back of her hair and she sobbed into his shoulder, she felt safe for the first time in a very long while.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, things changed A LOT while editing this chapter, I basically had to rewrite the whole thing. It didn't feel realistic and I want what happens between them to feel natural. Sansa has been through so much pain and suffering (show-wise) and it wouldn't make sense for her to just leap into bed with Sandor, she doesn't quite understand her feelings for him, and while they are there, she needs to come to terms with them and what has happened to her before she could ever be comfortable enough with the idea of sex. I fully believe that Sandor would be understanding and able to somewhat relate considering what he has been through himself. As a survivor of non-consent and abuse myself, I can attest that overcoming that kind of trauma isn't an easy journey and having someone there who understands can make the world of difference. I'm hoping they'll be able to help heal each other. This is why I decided against a sex scene this chapter, sorry if any of you were looking forward to that. Maybe something more will occur in the future but for now I'll leave it at this, thank you for understanding <3 I hope you enjoyed it.
> 
> PS apologies again for the shitty grammar and tenses, I don't have a ton of time to edit this and I mainly write in the middle of the night.


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